The Gift
by malachite eyes
Summary: This is what happens when Mal gets tired of writing fluff and sex for sex’s sake is boring. A Christmas story gone dark.


**Warning:** very violent, the rating is for violence alone. If you don't like dark fic, this is not a story for you.

He woke at 4:23 AM, biting his lip almost in half to hold back the screaming. Somehow he stumbled out of the darkened room and into the parlour where the banked fire cast feeble light. The dream clung to him and made his teeth chatter. He did not see the green boughs of the tree they had put up the night before in the midst of laughter and playful sparring, nor the gold and silver wrapped presents lying in a swath at its foot. He saw the blood, the horrid blue black that blood turns when it dries, coating the faces of his friends, coating the green grass of the Quidditch pitch, coating the fields with a violent parody of the bright Christmas decorations. He saw the glowing eyes of the Snake in the hearth and dove forward with an inarticulate cry to strangle it, to put out the cruel light with his bare hands as he had done only a few months ago. He did not feel the pain as his hands sizzled. In his mind the world was dark, Voldemort was winning and all he could do was hold on and pray that those he loved still stood. Ash billowed, a dark smell of roasting meat filled the room, and Harry Potter screamed and screamed.

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"What happened to him Severus?"

"He had an episode Poppy… the worst yet. Thank Merlin that when he fainted he landed on the hearth. Enough talk. The faster these burns are treated the better."

A soft gasp was the only reply as Severus gently laid his burden down on the hospital bed. Harry's hands were black with char and oozing, the skin crisped and peeling back. "Oh Severus," the Mediwitch whispered, "What did we do to this poor sweet boy?"

Severus only stared down at his partner, eyes black with fear and pain. "We used him as a tool in a war, and when he broke, we put him away and forgot about him. Now, do your work before he regains consciousness."

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On Christmas Eve, Harry lay quiescent on the couch, staring up into the evergreen boughs and thinking of nothing. He forced his mind into blank white space and held his eyes open, afraid of the dark behind the lids. Hands covered in tender new skin rested, quivering slightly on his stomach. They were like wild things, poised just before flight. Harry hated them with all of his being. They were small hands, but still killers. The thought brought forth the darkness and Harry lay and shook, sobbing silently into the darkness inside his head.

He awoke when the moon rose as the cold light slanted across his face. Severus had covered him with a blanket to ward off the chill of the cooling stone, and left a light burning for him. He wrapped the wool around his shoulders like a cloak and began to roam. He wandered the halls like a shadow, haunted the Owlery and the Astronomy Tower, tiptoed out into the middle of the Great Hall and stared outward into the glow of the night sky.

At dawn, Harry stood at the foot of their bed and watched his lover sleep. "Happy Christmas Severus Snape," he murmured in the barest whisper. Then he moved on to the office, slid into the soft leather chair behind Severus's desk and pulled out a clean sheet of parchment. It was time to finish Severus' gift.

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Severus slept late on Christmas morning. The suite was ridiculously quiet, and the bed was cold and empty. Harry must have slept through the night on the couch. Yawning hugely, Severus dragged his stiff limbs from the cocoon of blankets and pulled on a dressing gown. He made a quick toilette and shuffled out to the parlour to rouse the brat. He strolled up to the couch from behind and sneered at the messy black mop sticking out from under the blanket at one end. "Mr. Potter, it is 10:30 am and we have already slept through breakfast. You might wish to arise if you would like to open your presents before lunch is upon us."

With a sniff and a wave of his hand, Severus flipped the blanket back and froze in horror. Harry was curled tight, body twisted into an unnatural arch, face seized in a grimace of pain. His left hand was curled against his chest, fingers clamped convulsively around a small silver phial that Severus recognized as a lethal toxin he had developed during the war. With an inarticulate cry he fell to his knees and stared into glazed green eyes rimmed with blood dried into hard black tears. Blood that had frothed in his lungs as the poison did its cruel work lay in maroon foam on Harry's lips, along his cheek, along his neck. Severus reached with trembling fingers and wiped the sticky redness away. He slid down to the floor and fought with his gorge. What had caused Harry to do this thing? He hadn't had a single episode since his hands…. Severus's fingers felt a roll of parchment caught in the blankets. He slid it free from the tangle and unrolled it with short quick movements. As Severus read Harry's last words, the life left his face and his eyes became dark and dead.

_Severus-_

_I don't know why I have gone on this long, living this half life. I look at my hands, fresh new skin covering them and hiding the lethal brutality of them behind momentary weakness. Have you ever wondered why my mind always creates scenarios that damage my hands? I hate them so much, these killers attached to the ends of my arms. I killed Voldemort with my bare hands that day. I forgot all of the magic you taught me, I forgot it all in the face of my fear and my weakness and they all died. They died Severus, the hundreds of unknown faces, Muggles under torture, Dumbledore's Army in battle and Death Eaters sucked dry in their Master's unending quest for power. And what did I do? I hid. Then I stood and watched as he cut down ranks of my people to get to me. All of these deaths are on my hands. This is one of the reasons we came together I think, because you too know what it is to have the blood of innocents on your hands. _

_Every day I remember, and every day I fight the battle again, where I killed him. You think I don't see the toll this takes on you, on the few remaining from my old life. I see the dark circles under your eyes and I feel the pain that you feel having to watch me this way. I want you to be free, to live. I can't bear to be the cause of your pain. _

_This is my gift to you. In one moment, I will do what the flashbacks and episodes and nightmares might have taken years to do. I should have died with Voldemort. I should have killed him and gone down in a blaze of glory there, so you could have remembered me in the hot nights and frantic days of the war and not this wreck, this undead thing that I have become. _

_So I give you my final gift, born out of the love of my heart: I die and free you from watching my death. I chose the potion from the safe, the quickest and one if I remember correctly. Remember always that I love you. _

_Happy Christmas._

_Harry._

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"They found him lying on the floor like a zombie after the Christmas feast" The first year Ravenclaw murmured to his seatmate in potions. "He's in St. Mungo's now. Can't say I'm sorry. My sister had him last year and _she_ said he was a total monster."

"Fredrick McGurney! You stop gossiping this instant and pay attention to the lesson! 10 points from Ravenclaw."

"Sorry Professor Martin." The boys looked down sheepishly and got back to scribbling notes from the board.

The Potions Mistress resumed her discussion of healing draughts and shook her head at the foolishness of first years.

-fin-


End file.
